In the window of a passing boutique, a stranger slips into the reflection.Not one I’ve seen before.His shirt is soaked where there’s no rain.Alley stink clings to him.Wet concrete, hot metal.One eye is filmed over.Beneath his jaw a thin red seam sits too neat to be anything but final.He doesn’t blink.He only tips his head, curious.I know, without knowinghowI know, that Cassius put that line there.
We step intoLuminara.The shift from the bustling Vegas streets to the restaurant's serene interior is palpable.The atmosphere is a blend of subtle elegance and contemporary chic, the lighting soft and inviting, casting a warm glow over the rich mahogany furnishings and sleek, modern decor.Music weaves through the space, a gentle melody that complements the restaurant's sophisticated vibe.The walls are adorned with abstract art, their vibrant color pulled into lean lines.
We cross the threshold and the room tilts toward him.The host straightens, a manager materializes out of nowhere, and suddenly we’re not waiting like everyone else.
“Mr.Ashenheart,” the manager says, already turning.Menus appear in my hand I don’t remember reaching for.We glide past the podium, past the full tables, to a corner pressed to glass.Floor-to-ceiling windows and the city pours out beneath us.It isn’t celebrity fussing; it’s quiet, trained deference.For a second, it’s like Vegas belongs to him.Maybe it does.
A shape slides onto the end barstool.Not the grocery-store creep.Not the kitchen man in the Bolo-Hat.It’s the man from the window.He’s not transparent.It’s more like the light refuses to land on him.A handprint bruise sits crooked over the neat cut at his throat.His mouth shapes words only I can hear:He’s not your savior.He’s not looking at me.He’s looking at Cassius.Two fingers lift in a lazy salute to my husband.Then the ghost drags his thumb across his own throat and tips his chin at me.I blink and the stool is empty, just a damp ring left over on the wood.
Cassius orders for us both, choosing dishes that showcase the restaurant's culinary flair—seared scallops with a delicate lemon butter sauce for me, and for himself, a perfectly cooked ribeye steak, accompanied by a bold red wine.I line my knife with the edge of my plate, breathe in fives.Letting him choose for me should upset me, shouldn’t it?Instead it settles something, and that unsettles something else.
The presentation is impeccable, each plate a small universe.I snap a photo and fire it to Nathan.
Guess where?
Nathan:
If that’s Luminara I am disowning you.
Close-up on the scallops.I want to see the crust.
I send a zoom.
Okay, okay—hard sear, just-kissed center.Is that Meyer lemon beurre monté?Tell me there’s fennel pollen.
You need to calm down.
Nathan:
Never.Order the bread.
Cedric:
Tell your mystery man thanks for feeding my husband new material.
I’ll call you soon.I have news.
Nathan:
Good news or I’m flying to Vegas news?
Good news.
Nathan:
Terrified/thrilled.Proud of you.Eat one of everything for me.
“Would you like to go toMirageafter work tonight,” Cassius asks.I set my phone face down “I have something I want to talk to you about.”
“Aren't you too tired for another outing?”I ask, hinting at the exhaustion that must cling to the edges of his adrenaline.I’m thrilled he’s home and would be just as happy spending the night at home together.
He smiles, a shadow of weariness in his eyes.“For you, I’ll muster up the energy.Besides,Mirageis waiting for us.”
Mirage.The name sends a thrill through me, mixed with a pang of guilt for loving the place so much, for wanting to go even though I know he has to be exhausted.Part of me yearns to peel back the layers of his world, to understand the man I'm increasingly drawn to, yet I'm fearful of what I might find.It's a delicate dance between desire and denial, between knowing him wholly and preserving the sanctity of my ignorance.
“I’d love to go,” I say.The smile Cassius gives me makes my stomach flip.
Our meal concludes with a shared dessert, a decadent chocolate mousse that melts on the tongue, a sweet counterpoint to the savory complexity of our lunch.As we linger over the last spoonfuls, Cassius notices the change in my demeanor, his gaze questioning.I meet his eyes, a tumult of emotions swirling within me.“Earlier, texting my brother, I realized I haven't told my family we're married.”
